


Discretionary Spending

by midgetnazgul



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midgetnazgul/pseuds/midgetnazgul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a prompt on the Avengers kinkmeme.</p><p>Original prompt: <i>Tony really enjoys buying/building the other Avengers things they mention wanting or needing. Natasha mentions this obscure brand of expensive chocolates she once enjoyed on a mission and can't seem to find? Tony orders some in bulk. Bruce misses a certain tea, or mentions in passing that he wants a piece of lab equipment? Already bought it, and here I made adjustments so the equipment is even better than it was! Steve wants a really old film that's only on VHS and is really hard to find? Oh, I just had it in storage... Clint likes perching up high, but lacks enough places to do so in comfort? Was just about to remodel the place anyway. Thor mentions some obscure Nordic food that he misses? Tony knows just the place...</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Point being, they eventually catch on to the fact that Tony notices things, and proceeds to do what needs to be done to get those things for them. No matter how often he stays in his lab for three days in a row, or how much he throws sarcastic comments, or acts just plain rude, he cares a lot. This leads to the entire team being nicer as a whole to Tony. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose technically this fic should be described as Pepperony, but as it is not the driving force behind the fic, just in the background, I figured I'd just mention it here instead of tagging it misleadingly.

            Tony sat at his desk at home, his feet propped upon it in order to aid his willful neglect of quarterly projections from Pepper by blocking the computer screen. He twirled a socket wrench around his fingers as he spoke with Bruce via satellite communication. Owning 60% of the metal orbiting the planet was a huge assistance in keeping contact with vagabond friends.  
  
            “So how, exactly, does one keep up with American medical technology journals when they’re knee-deep in third-world sicknesses?”  
  
            “The internet, of course. It does exist out here, too, you know,” Bruce preempted, as if he could sense Tony’s rising skeptical eyebrow.   
  
            “Fair enough. But why those in particular?”  
  
            Bruce sighed wistfully. “I keep an eye on mobile diagnostic tools. It’s a long way from what it was ten years ago, but the technology’s just not there, yet, for what I do. Though, to be honest and cynical about it, most of the medical profession isn’t particularly interested in facilitating what I do,” he finished.  
  
            “Probably, but I think the hand-held portable MRI is a bit of a tall order for the foreseeable future,” Tony countered, earning him a rare, genuine chuckle on the other end of the line.  
  
            “Unsurprisingly, your wish is vastly more ambitious than mine.”  
  
            “What do you mean?”  
  
            “If I’m treating someone who legitimately _needs_ an MRI, they’re probably beyond any help I can give in the field. They’d need a brick-and-mortar hospital. What I’m hoping for is just to expedite how quickly I can diagnose an illness. Doctors, at least when it comes to general communicable diseases, don’t need equipment priced in the tens of thousands of dollars to diagnose and treat it – it just lets you do it quicker, to help a greater volume of people. The biggest problem, considering the places I go, is power efficiency. Some days I’d give up my left arm for an ultrasound that doesn’t need a wall current, or at least has decent battery life. Or that I had an on-the-spot bacterial staining method. I can’t really afford to be restricted by devices if, convenient as they are medically, require me to be in city centers at predictable times…for a number of reasons I think you can appreciate.”  
  
            “Yeah,” Tony replied passively, distracted by a hasty acquisition of a pen and scribbling down specs onto the back of some internal company memo. Mechanical and power requirements were one thing, but for a good outward design, he’d need to know more about Bruce’s day-to-day, travel methods…  
  
            “Am I keeping you from something?” Tony jumped at the interruption, giving the letter he was writing a sudden, angling tail off the page. How long had he gone without saying anything?  
  
            “Probably,” Tony answered with a snicker, “but believe me, I’d find ways to do it myself if we weren’t talking. So how does that work, traipsing amongst leper colonies and the like?”  
  
            Bruce huffed, obviously a little taken aback at the interest. “Well…”

                                                                                                          ---Months Later ---  
  
            “Babe, you wanna hand me the three-eighths’ inch?”   
  
            Tony’s hand shot out from under the wrecked chassis of a ’70 Chevelle he’d seen in the paper and decided to bring home to give some well-deserved TLC. Pepper obliged, turning her attention away from her book just long enough to remove the correct tool from a workbench next to her chair. He tickled the back of her hand before letting go and taking the wrench with it, smiling at her quiet giggle in response. It was a rare Saturday to themselves, both of them in town and away from the office. In past incarnations of this free time, Pepper had placed a Sabbath-like moratorium on fiddling with prototypes and research, but quickly she had learned that Tony’s seeming ADD just didn’t allow for him to not tinker with something mechanical in one way or another, at least for a little while. So, she’d let it go. Besides, the beneficial part of said ADD meant he would sooner or later get bored, and he’d either bound off to the next suggested activity, or turn his restless hands’ attention onto her. Win-win, either way.  
  
           “Phone call for you, sir,” JARVIS came over the intercom. Tony grumbled.  
  
           “Did you clear your memory cache? I specifically told you no-“  
  
            “It’s Doctor Banner, sir.”  
  
           “Oh.” He rolled back out from under the car, jogged across to his desk and snatched his headset off the surface.  
  
           “Hey, man, what’s up?”  
  
           “I received a very mysterious package today. Care to explain yourself?” Bruce asked, voice torn between amusement and real confusion.  
  
           Tony paused a moment in consideration. “You see,” he began, “I was working the other day, and I _really_ needed a new neodymium boring laser, so I left a piece of silicon under my pillow for the technology fairy. But when I woke up the next morning, I found this miniature ultrasound sensor powered by nano-magnetic batteries under there instead of my laser, which gave me the _worst_ kink in my neck, by the way, and I didn’t know what to do with it. So I asked myself, ‘Now Tony, whoever on Earth-',”  
  
           “I get it, I get it.”  
  
           Tony rummaged around his desk for a previously-abandoned bag of chips, “It work?”  
  
           “I…haven’t tried yet. Why _wouldn’t_ it work?”  
  
           “Well, I mean,” Tony prefaced churlishly, “it did when I gave it to the SHIELD courier last Tuesday.” He counted off days on his hand. “Four days ago. Plenty of time to break it. What the hell took him so long?”  
  
           “Might have something to do with the fact I’m in a mountainside village in the northeastern corner of Bangladesh.”  
  
           “Ah. Perfect place to do some test runs, then.”  
  
           “ _Test runs_ _?_ But you said-“  
  
           “Yeah, I used it on Rhodey a couple times to make sure it didn’t start on fire or anything. It’s not gonna hurt anybody, but it’s not like it has an instruction manual, so if you have trouble with it, call me. Though you could probably figure it out if you stared at it long enough.”  
  
           “Call…? Tony, did you _make_ this?”  
  
           “Uh, yeah,” Stark replied sarcastically, “You said yourself you couldn’t find something that worked for you.”   
  
           The line fell silent for some time, and Tony was content enough with his starchy snack to let Bruce take the time to absorb the revelation.  
  
           “I…th-thank you.”  
  
           “No problem. Let me know if it doesn’t work, or kills somebody.”  
  
           He hung up just as Bruce began another, stuttered protest.


	2. Chapter 2

          SHIELD HQ always did a number on Tony’s sense of feng shui. So many angles, too much white and gray; overall, it was far too overtly bureaucratic to escape his notice, and never failed to put him just a little on edge whenever he had to visit. Fury and Stark had come to an accord on using some of Stark Industries’ considerable talents to assist in furthering SHIELD’s current projects. R&D hadn’t been a problem for them before Tony had joined up, but his company’s assistance certainly helped speed things along. This, unfortunately, meant that Tony had to have face-to-face meetings fairly frequently with Fury for the sake of keeping things organized between their people, and having protracted discussions with an eye-patched ex-spy that had a penchant for lying to him did nothing to set him at ease.  
  
          He arrived at the door to Fury’s office, but noted someone was already inside. It couldn’t have been too private, as the door remained open. Tony recognized Thor’s voice.  
  
          “I do not understand how my request entails such difficulty.”  
  
          Fury gave an exasperated sigh that lit Tony’s face with a smile.  
  
          “I don’t know what kind of international security budgeting exists in Asgard, but this is a governmental agency. I’m lucky I can upgrade you to first class and let you run around and sampling Turkish delight for weeks on end. You have to fly commercially because I can’t set aside guaranteed flight access at anytime, anywhere with the aircraft we have, and even _if_ I could, you’d still have the same problem. Humans don’t typically come in the seven-foot-tall, megaheavyweight class.”  
  
          “Can these crafts not be refitted?” The Asgardian asked. Fury outright laughed.  
  
          “You wanna march out and tell the CEO of Delta his airplane seats are too small for the one demi-god gallivanting across the planet and should change them, be my guest. In fact, record it for me.” Tony could almost perceive Thor’s rising indignation. Someone cleared their throat.  
  
          “Sorry,” Fury recanted, “but look, but my hands are tied on that one. Having had to fly coach in the past myself, I can only imagine how…claustrophobic you would feel. However, refitting entire aircraft for the personal use of one person just isn’t in my discretionary budget. Now, I have a meeting with Stark soon.”  
  
          Thor sighed. “Forgive my imposition.”  
  
          “It’s fine.”  
  
          “Tough luck, Point Break,” Tony remarked to Thor’s back as he left. He only received a gruff grunt in response.

\-----------

          “Will you not tell me why we are heading for the...airport?” Thor asked, remembering just in time the human word used for the transportation hub. He turned to address the driver, whom had approached him at SHIELD headquarters twenty minutes ago.  
  
          “I’m afraid that wasn’t part of my brief, sir. That said, I do know it was a request from Mr. Stark.” What he didn’t tell his passenger was learning that tidbit had required quite a bit of snooping about the office, as it was proof he’d broken protocol. Being a simple, regional courier, it wasn’t often he had to transport an Avenger in-the-flesh to a seeming clandestine location. He waved his badge at the security on-site to be let in onto the airfield itself. A few minutes later, they pulled into their final destination – hanger 26. Thor gave a nod of acknowledgement to his driver, confusion still obscuring his features. A man stood atop a small flight of stairs leading up to an aircraft, this one a bit smaller than the ones Thor had become accustomed to traveling on. As he approached the plane, he could also see a woman standing behind him, just inside the door on the side.  
  
          “Hello, sir. We’ve been expecting you,” the man introduced.  
  
          “Who are you?"  
  
          “My name is David. This is Stacy,” he said, gesturing to the woman behind him, who waved. “I’m your pilot.”  
  
          “Forgive me, but I do not understand.”  
  
          “This plane is yours. Stacy and I are paid solely to take you wherever you want, anytime.” Thor’s jaw dropped. He ascended the stairs, and his companions stepped aside to let him in. It was furnished in a way completely alien to what he’d seen in the past; the cabin was more akin to a living space, being open with a small bar, television, and table off to one side. Towards the back were four seats, all separate from one another, and each the size of a small throne, but still with the restraints common to all aircraft.  
  
          “The seats can be repositioned for sleeping if necessary,” Stacy added over his shoulder.  
  
          “I knew nothing of this,” Thor murmured incredulously.  
  
          “So we’ve been told, but nonetheless, it is yours.”  
  
          “Stark…”   
  
          “Excuse me?” asked David.  
  
          “Stark!” Thor exclaimed, “He is the mastermind of this, is he not?” The two shared an uncomfortable glance.   
  
          “We were specifically instructed not to mention who commissioned the outfitting of the plane and who hired us,” David replied hesitantly. Thor gave a loud bark of laughter.  
  
          “Your concern only confirms my suspicions. Worry not! I will ensure he knows you did not break confidence.” They both relaxed visibly at his reassurance. “Well then, sir,” David asked, “where would you like to go today?”  
  
          “Tell me of a place you have been, and we shall head there. It seems men of your profession have seen much of this world,” the demi-god suggested.  
  
          “Where I’ve been? W-well…Israel is nice this time of year, and less tourists.”  
  
          “Excellent! Let us go forth!” He made to settle into one of the massive seats. Pleased with the trappings of his new transport, he promised himself to thank his small, metal-suited friend profusely as soon as he was able.


	3. Chapter 3

          “I don’t get what it is with Steve the past few days,” Natasha mumbled into her coffee mug. Pepper, sitting on the opposite side of the bar from her, tilted her head to the side in confusion.  
  
          “Something the matter?”  
  
          “Yeah, I guess, but he won’t open up about it. Clint and I both tried, but we got nothing.”  
  
          “What makes you so sure he’s upset?”  
  
          “Well, you know how on-task he is about everything he does, but lately he’s been distant. Not only socially, I mean just not there. Didn’t say a thing at our last group meeting, but Clint caught him down in the gym sending punching bags flying across the room.”  
  
          “Tony has told me about his,” Pepper coughed, “ _unique_ regimen.”  
  
          “Needing a battery of punching bags because they wear out too fast is one thing, but I’m talking about single kicks sending them in two different directions. Clint said he’d turned the floor into a beach with all the sand from the destroyed bags.” Pepper’s eyes widened in acknowledgement.  
  
          “Ok, yeah, that’s something else.”   
  
          “So, I drug him out for dinner night before last. All he’d tell me was it was something from the war. I told him there were plenty of people on site for PTSD, or whatever, but he just laughed me off and said it was nothing like that. Then he…drifted off, staring at some people dancing in the bar.”  
  
          “If he isn’t going to talk, then you’re just going to have to give him time,” Pepper said, “He probably finds it difficult to speak with you about something that happened before you were even born.”  
  
          “Good point. As long as it doesn’t affect his work, I guess I shouldn’t even been sticking my nose in his business-” Pepper interrupted her by laying a hand over her outstretched wrist on the counter.  
  
          “He’s your friend. You have every right to be worried,” Natasha blushed, clearly unsure how to process the realization. Super-assassins didn’t typically have friends like Steve.  
  
 _Though she’s more likely to have a friend like that sooner than me_ , Tony thought, eavesdropping from behind the threshold between the elevator and the open space of the bar, peeking out at what he deemed appropriate times. He hadn’t intended to be in this position. They both knew he was home, working; he’d only come upstairs to show Pepper his new insight on tech for the suit, and had stumbled onto the girls’ conversation. In fact, he had been fully prepared to march right on in and move the conversation onto something vastly more interesting than Rodgers when Natasha had mentioned the dancers in the bar. It triggered a very old, almost completely blurred memory of a conversation he had similarly eavesdropped upon one summer he’d been home from boarding school. He’d been maybe sixteen. His father and Obediah had been drinking in the den, and Tony had sat at the base of the stairs, listening, though why, he couldn’t remember.  
  
        _”…was a hell of a man. Never understood how he’d hooked her…son-of-a-bitch couldn’t even dance. Set up a date an’ everything when the ship went down. Peg’d have a hell of a time teachin’ that flatfoot, lemme tell you.”_

_\----------_

          A knock thudded against Steve’s door, pulling his attention from _A People’s History of the United States_. A puzzled glance measured the entryway; he received no visitors apart from the odd fellow Avenger, and even that was exceedingly rare. The apartment he had here was really only for sleeping, or for times like this, when he just wanted to be somewhere quiet and solitary. And given the fact he’d been putting everyone at arm’s length the past week, he doubted it would be any of them. Nonetheless, he stood and made for the door. It could be a delivery man of some sort who’d come here by mistake, or something, and would need redirection. Upon opening the door, however, he was greeted by a stunning brunette almost as tall as he was. She appeared almost as surprised as him, and gave him the once-over. Her lips briefly pursed in attempt to hide a smile.  
  
          “C-can I help you?”  
  
          “Are you Steve Rodgers?”  
  
          He took an involuntary step back in suspicion. If she’d been a threat, their conversation probably would have never gotten this far, but one could never be too sure.  
  
          “Yes, I am,” he replied slowly. A hand shot out in greeting, making him flinch.  
  
          “Marinka.” He took her hand and shook it.  
  
          “Marinka…?” Steve prompted. She giggled and shook her head.  
  
          “Given what I’m here for, you’re lucky enough to get my _real_ first name. That should be enough, don’t you think?”  
  
          “What are you here for?” He asked as he stepped aside to let her in.  
  
          “I’m here to teach you how to dance. Specifically, the foxtrot, a modern waltz, and maybe a bit of tango. I was told to focus on basics from around the 40’s.” Steve retreated, arms up and waving back and forth.  
  
          “What?" he cried. How could anyone have guessed what he'd been stewing over this week? "Uh, look, I’m sorry, I-I don’t know who told you to come down here, but it definitely wasn’t me.”  
  
          “No, it wasn’t, it was…we’ll call them a mutual friend,” she confirmed with a smirk, “and I was told to expect some reluctance.”  
  
          “Then, if you’ll pardon my French, miss, why the hell did you come down here?”  
  
          “A fair question. The way our friend first described you, I had thought they meant to request my _other_ services, and was very close to hanging up.”  
  
          “I thought you were friends,” Steve asked, growing more and more confused by the second.  
  
          “Friends come in a wide spectrum, and this person is…well, challenging to deal with, but that’s not the point. Then, they told me a story about a man who had hoped to learn some classic footwork from someone special, but had missed out because he got hurt fighting for his country. And, well, our friend knows I’m a sucker for romantics…” she drifted off, shrugging. “However, if you find this arrangement too uncomfortable-"  
  
          Steve was floored. Of all the things - forget that - of all the _people_ …he wasn’t sure what this meant, but he was pretty sure it was supposed to be positive.  
  
          “No,” Steve interrupted, “No, stay. Far be it from me to turn down beautiful woman’s invitation to dance.”   
  
          “Such a gentleman,” Marinka remarked with an edge of cynical surprise.

\----------

          It took quite a bit of doing, but before too terribly long Marinka had him making slow, three-fourths time circles with her around his tiny living room. The task had been made extra difficult as Steve had to also concentrate on not crushing his dance partner’s hand from anxiety, along with everything else.  
  
          “My god, he hadn’t been kidding when he said you could be clumsy,” she snickered good-naturedly, “but once you got it, you’re a pretty quick study.”  
  
          “He, hmm?” Steve repeated teasingly, “That narrows down the list.” Marinka tried to backpedal, but could only get out a few nervous ‘ums’ and breathy laughs. “I-I know a _lot_ of people, Steve, it could be anyone.”  
  
          “I only have five friends, Marinka. Makes it pretty easy even when you only limit by gender. Besides, I already figured out who our mutual friend is. The list of people who know that story he told you is…very short. So, you teach him to dance, or was it your ‘other service’? What does that mean, anyway?” Marinka balked incredulously at his question and gave him an ‘are-you-serious’ look.   
  
          “What? Really, what else do you do?” She bit her lip, but continued to give him a curious expression.  
  
          “I’m an escort, Steve,” she said with a sarcastic chuckle, “but once upon a time I was something of a well-known dancer.” Now it was Steve’s turn at incredulity.  
  
          “Tony seems to know New York pretty well. Is that because of you? Why would he need someone to guide him through the city?” Marinka let go of him entirely, doubled over in hysterics. All Steve could do was shrug self-consciously. “Uh…I…what?”  
  
          “You really are too good to be true,” Marinka said after the worst of her laughter had passed. “Why don’t we leave it here for today? I’ll have time next Thursday, provided you’re not off defending humanity. Steve’s gibbering increased, but Marinka waved off his concern.  
  
          “Discretion is my business, don’t worry.” There would be plenty of time for questions another day, so Steve let them go.  
  
          “Then Thursday it is…Mari,” he suggested. Her perfect teeth glimmered in her first, genuine smile all afternoon. “Say hi to Tony for me,” she said in farewell. However, Steve had one, last burning question he couldn’t leave for another time.  
  
          “Why did he _really_ do this?” Steve asked, stopping her. She sat back in reflection for a few moments.  
  
          “As I mentioned earlier, he is a difficult person to deal with, because, despite what a narcissist he is, he’s terrible at talking about himself when it matters. But once he attaches to someone, he’s impossible to get rid of, and often resorts to spending ridiculous amounts of money as his own kind of apology for being the way he is, so you’ll put up with him – at least, that’s how it works in his head. He respects you,” she summarized, “and this is the only way he knows how to show it. There’s really nothing more to it than that.”  
  
          “Uh…” Steve muttered, feeling a little ashamed for being so suspicious of Tony’s gift, “I see. Thanks.”  
  
          “You’ll get it, in time,” she reassured as the door shut behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally just a mini-chapter I posted for the lulz while I was working on the next full section.

           Loki sat, petulant as usual, in his cell back in Asgard. They had decided to keep him in a magical containment field while Odin decided what he was going to as penance for his crimes. Loki, even in defeat, spurned the pity and mercy of both Odin and Thor. Unperturbed, Thor still insisted on visiting his “brother” as often as possible, in between visits back to Midgard to assist the human peons. The would-be tyrant often regarded these intrusions with little more than sneering expressions, or, on a good day, a few bitter rebukes before Thor would leave again. A guard came up to the glittering energy field encasing him.  
  
           “Something for you,” the guard said bluntly, waving a box in front of him.  
  
           “My goodness, a gift? You spoil me.”  
  
           The package was tossed carelessly through the barrier. It allowed the passage of inanimate objects; after all, it wasn’t like Loki had, or could conjure, any weapons on his side since the spell restricted his natural magical skill. Loki caught it, and gave the guard a final, scorning look for good measure as the man left. A note was tucked under the twine tied around the plain, brown paper surrounding the package. He snatched it up impatiently.  
  
 _Learn to deal, dude._  
  
           What in the Nine Realms did _that_ mean? And where had this come from? He tore the paper apart, revealing a book.  
  
 _Adoption Healing…a Path to Recovery_ , by Joe Soll.   
  
           Loki growled with indignation at the cover, and threw it on the ground. Whatever person had decided to make light of his parentage had a serious death wish. After a few minutes of pacing around his cage to cool his head, however, he regarded the book again from afar.  
  
           Two days later, when Thor returned to visit, he found his brother sitting quietly, absorbed in a text he didn’t recognize. It had English on it, curiously enough, so Thor decided to let him be and retreated to his quarters.


	5. Chapter 5

                Tony heard a door slam, and Pepper soon appeared, rounding a corner into the kitchen. He caught a kiss from her as she strode past for access to the refrigerator, presumably for her pre-bedtime mineral water.

                “Welcome home. How was your girls’ night out? Or really, girl-and-super-ninja’s night out would be more accurate,” he snarked, sculpting himself a magnificent roast beef sandwich for his dinner. Pepper strode up and smacked him playfully on the arm with her clutch in rebuke.

                “Stop that. Tasha’s a perfectly normal woman off the clock, you know.”

                “She has no concept of being off the clock. The only times she knows is ‘humorless ass-kicking time’ and ‘waiting humorlessly for ass-kicking time’,” he insisted, making kung-fu-type swipes at the air as he spoke.” No one seems to appreciate how much _more_ I have to relax and have fun for the sake of people like Romanoff that can’t shake the stick from their ass,” Tony whined theatrically at Pepper’s rolled eyes.

                “While we were out today, we passed a store selling Louboutin shoes. She tried to hide it, but she was lusting after them pretty hard,” Pepper remarked with a smile. “She told me she tried to get SHIELD to spring for a pair ‘for undercover work’, but was denied.”

                “Bureaucratic stinginess,” Tony huffed, “I saw the video from her last excursion to Russia. Good thing she was _looking_ to get caught, ‘cause that $250 dress from Macy’s wasn’t gonna cut it if she wanted to blend in with the eight-figures-a-year crowd.”

                Pepper snatched a piece of roast beef off the vulnerable sandwich while Tony fidgeted in the fridge for condiments. She taunted him with her prize when he returned his attention to his meal by tearing a piece of it off with her teeth, to which Tony responded by shaking a fist at her and grumbling a simile about ‘stabbing the Mona Lisa’. Pepper lent against the counter, suddenly contemplative, teasing the cold cuts apart mindlessly as she spoke.

                “I offered to buy them for her, but she laughed me off and said they were too impractical for work anyway,” Pepper hesitated before continuing, “She’s told me before about she feels like she has no identity, no personality. I tell her it couldn’t be further from the truth, but I don’t think she believes me. It’s silly to admit it out loud, but I had hoped if I got those for her, she’d feel at least a little bit special…”

                “Would shoes _really_ fix an identity crisis, Pepper?” Tony asked skeptically. Pepper gave an exasperated sigh.

                “Sometimes, a woman really wants to look like she just stepped off the catwalk and look like a bombshell, Tony. Especially when you’re stalking amongst a bunch of upper-crust snobs to bring down their totalitarian regimes.”

                “I can appreciate that,” he replied, “If you felt that strongly about it, you should’ve just done it. Pretend to be me for five minutes.”

                “Why should I do that when you’ll take care of it yourself, what with your little Santa Claus routine these days? ...That I totally don’t know about,” Pepper finished hurriedly, grabbing her water and running off for their bedroom before Tony could retaliate. He tossed an olive after her half-heartedly.

                “Quiet, people might think I’m a nice person if you compare me to Santa,” he shouted off down the hall, “Also, I totally see what you did there, with that story. Now I might not, just to spite you.”

\----------

                Natasha kept a small workbench at SHIELD headquarters for her personal weapon modifications, and was where she spent a good chunk of her free time when she wasn’t sparring with Clint. She was surprised to find, one morning when she arrived, a box sitting atop it wrapped in gaudy glitter wrapping paper with an ostentatious silver bow attached to the top. A small piece of paper also came into view when she pushed aside the massive decoration. Upon retrieving and unfolding it, she found a note.

                _My lawyers told me buying you a dress could be construed as sexual harassment, which this totally isn’t, by the way,_ _so I settled on proper accoutrements. Made a few practical modifications myself, too. If you’re looking to pass yourself off as a foreign debutant for your solo Charlie’s Angels schtick, you should look the part. A cheap outfit isn’t gonna fool any of those evil dictators’ rental-girlfriends at a party, trust me. They’re vicious. All the more reason to look hotter than them, right (still not sexual harassment, just saying)?_

_I’m still willing to get you a/several believable dress(es), too, if you promise not to sue me later. Whatever you want. Apparently I can claim it as a tax write-off for business. : )_

_You know where to find me._ _-T_

               She lifted the box; it covered a small clutch and a pair of shoes. Said box almost hit the floor, however, when she realized just what she had received. A pair of Christiane Louboutin Bianca pumps, in black, with a similarly-colored Pigalle-style clutch to go with it. Outside the realm of arms and ammunition, she was pretty sure no one had ever spent this kind of money on her. Curiosity piqued by the “modifications” comment, she picked the shoes up, first. She saw a slit in the front of the shoe, so she tapped the stiletto heel against the table experimentally; she was rewarded with a three-inch blade jutting out from between the sole and heel of the toe-end. A smirk tilted the corner of her lips. She always had an appreciation for the classics. Another tap retracted the blade so she could try them on – they fit perfectly, and Natasha was too pleased with how they looked to be truly concerned as to how Stark had acquired her shoe measurements. Taking a moment to glance around her surroundings in case anyone had noticed what she was doing, she turned her attention to the clutch. In it was a small cylinder, about the size and appearance of a mascara container, with a small button on it. Another note was there, as well.

                _You know those lasers on the suit’s wrists? Here you go. They’re one-offs, but I can always make more. Use ‘em when you’re in a really tough spot. That’s always been my problem with espionage: no backup when you’re up shit creek without a paddle. Maybe even use it like a lightsaber for me, just once. Each one has only about three seconds of cutting power, but hey, better than nothing. Consider them an insurance policy. I really wouldn’t want to deal with Barton if you didn’t come home someday._

                Natasha smiled in spite of herself at the piece of paper. She wasn’t quite sure what to think, now that it was apparent narcissism was a curable condition.


	6. Chapter 6

            Tony grumbled at his computer monitor in distaste. He had a simple word document open on the screen detailing personal preferences and interests for the rest of the team; even Romanoff’s was a novel, compared to what he had gathered on the archer. He’d spent weeks and a few thousand dollars trying unsuccessfully to tail Barton back to wherever he lived. PIs, drones, a few custom-made tracers surreptitiously placed on his clothes, his gear bag, the quiver, _Natasha_ \- none of it had worked.  After all of his attempted spying, he’d given up and asked Barton where he lived directly, only to receive a smug smirk in reply.

            _That_ had made it an open challenge. He’d been loath to crack SHIELD’s databases again, since he’d already tipped his hand using the trick once before, but with his pride in his stubbornness on the line, there was no limit to how far he’d go for his information. So, cracked the database he did, and acquired Barton’s address, though he lamented the crude methods he’d taken to do so. Now, all that was left was an appropriate revelation of his success. Harassment was his knee-jerk intuition, but he realized Barton was the only one left who hadn’t been enlightened on how epic it was to have Tony Stark as a friend.

            Objective data was one thing, but _learning_ anything about Barton was proving several magnitudes more difficult. The man was a damned wall, and whatever hesitance in the name of privacy Barton had felt in the beginning, Tony was now almost certain had been replaced with reserved amusement in watching his teammate squirm. There weren’t many ways to get one up over Tony, after all. He gave a heavy sigh, and spun himself around in his chair. On the far wall, he caught a glance of Sting the sword hanging on it; it was one of the two actual props made for filming. Bidding on it, Pepper told him, had been vicious, but he’d instructed her to spare no expense to own it. Acquiring the sword had been a particular point of pride, as he rarely indulged in feeding his geeky tendencies…if he did more often, he’d probably be bankrupt.

            The sword’s presence triggered a tiny detail from the New York incident. Had he not been distracted by the imminent alien invasion, he probably would have been rather shocked when he noted it at the time. When he’d made to grab Barton by the back of his shirt to take him to the rooftops, and christened his new nickname (which he’d promptly forgotten about the next day), Tony had seen for a brief, but undeniable moment, true joy in Barton’s eyes. Anyone else would have passed it off, but Tony knew that same fanboyish sentiment he’d recognized in Barton’s eyes had been reflected in his own many times over the course of his life. There was just this aura about people that let you know you were of a kin. An evil smile split his face. No wonder Barton kept his personal tastes close to the vest.

\----------

            Clint opened his locker and found a post-it note stuck to the inside of the door.

            _Found you. : )_

            Damn. Stark had finally figured it out. Clint had long since viewed it as a foregone conclusion, but was a bit sad to see his fun end. Their colleagues had been gossiping back and forth over Stark’s extravagant gift-giving, and Clint wanted no part of it. He hadn’t gotten specifics yet, as he’d been out of the country for most of that time on various missions; he wasn’t going to go out of his way to learn, either. It wasn’t his business. Stark was growing on him, sure, but throwing money at him wasn’t going to expedite the process. He had no need of anything material, and he had little intention of giving the billionaire reason to start thinking he did. He packed up his bag and headed for home, dreading what he was going to find when he got there. More post-it notes declaring Stark’s superiority, most likely. That, and obvious fingerprints proving he’d touched Clint’s stuff, just because he could.

            Upon arrival at his apartment, he flicked on the lights to find what he expected; the first of probably several post-it notes stuck to his kitchen counter.

            _You have unexpectedly good taste. Because I’m sure you’ll want to know: yes, they’re combat-ready. Use them whenever you want, I made sure they’d work with your equipment. Also, you should come over some time to watch all three. The equipment I’ve got is better than the theater._

            His eyes shot up from the note and began suspiciously scanning the foyer and kitchen – nothing. Confused, he stuck the note back on the counter, went for his room, and turned on the light there to be confronted with quite possibly the most gorgeous sight he’d yet encountered in his life. Three perfectly replicated, full-sized bows from The Lord of the Rings universe; Legolas’ Lothlorien bow, a Galadhrim bow from Two Towers, and even Lurtz’s demonic-looking one from Fellowship of the Ring. Trembling fingers reached forth to touch the Lothlorien bow; Clint made a small squeaking noise when he made contact, proving the weapons were indeed there and he wasn’t dreaming.

            “Combat-ready,” Clint whispered reverently in repetition of Tony’s note. If Stark wanted to be friends this badly, he could consider the assassin bought and paid for. He never got to see the trilogy in-theater, due to the nature of his job; he’d kill to watch the Battle of Helm’s Deep on a large screen with multi-channel surround sound.

\----------

            The Avengers had assembled in Los Angeles for a run-of-the-mill monster extermination call. Before getting off the airship, Clint made a show of whipping out his chosen weapon for the day – the Uruk-hai bow, as its tension made it extra-deadly.  He and Stark shared a grin, much to the confusion of everyone else aboard. He’d decided to take the fantasy bows on Avengers excursions, as they didn’t require the stealth and flexibility of his usual weapon. Soon as their transport kicked off from the landing zone, Steve began shouting directives for his team.

            “Everyone got it?” Steve asked far below Clint, who’d been dropped off on the nearest tall building by Stark. Chirps of acknowledgement could be heard from everyone.

                “Forth Eorlingas,” Clint murmured into the comm, really for no one but himself.

                “The hell does that mean?” asked Steve.

                “Clearly, it is an opening battle cry, asking for the blessing of his ancestors! SANNLEIKI OK HJARTA!” Thor added enthusiastically as he took off running, thrusting Mjolnir before him. Tony did his best to remain on a straight flight trajectory and avoid curling into a ball of laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Why yes this was a thinly-veiled excuse to use the phrase 'Forth Eorlingas' in a fanfiction how did you guess~~
> 
> Just for reference, Lurtz was the one Uruk-hai that killed Boromir in Fellowship of the Ring. Such a cool bow. :D The Galadhrim bows are the ones the elves are carrying that come to help the Rohirrim in Two Towers. Also, 'sannleiki ok hjarta' means 'truth and heart' ~~super-cheesy I know but it's Thor come on.~~ I found a Viking battle cry generator after some Google-fu.


	7. Chapter 7

          Tony loosened his tie while he waited for the elevator to finish its trip. He’d been back in Malibu for four days attending a benefit, and had landed back in New York only an hour ago. Usually, Pepper could be begged and/or harassed into attending those sorts of functions for him, but the foundation in question had grown wise to Tony’s game and insisted on him being the official keynote speaker this year, rather than just the financial figurehead. On top of that, the Malibu office jumped on the opportunity to corner Tony into going over business while he was in town.

          He’d stayed at his old house there while he was visiting – and had been reminded all throughout those few days why he had abandoned that house for the new tower in New York in the first place. There were too many memories soaking it to the foundations, and staying there alone had only aggravated the sensation. Just walking in the door to the lower, business-centered levels of Stark Tower had been a huge relief. He used to _loathe_ being around people, content to tinker away hours in the basement in Malibu. But now, people meant Pepper, the other Avengers, and purpose. It made life a little more crowded, sure, but no amount of time would ever be able to dull Tony’s unparalleled skill in irritating people enough to leave him alone, if he wanted to be so.

          And, for now, the tower’s upper housing levels were still his – and Pepper’s, he supposed.

  _That will change soon, but right now, I'll be able to re-annex my couch and revel in hundreds of channels of trashy TV-_

          He froze at the entryway to the common area. A massive couch stretched across the room. Seated upon it were Natasha, Bruce, and Clint, watching what appeared to be _Goblet of Fire_. Bruce looked over his shoulder at him, giving a little wave.

          “Hey.”

          “What the hell are you doing in my house?” Tony demanded.

          “See, that’s not how _we_ heard it,” Steve announced from the small adjoining kitchenette, holding some sort of cylindrical container in his hand. “This ice cream is _awesome_ , by the way.”

          “ _That,_ ” Tony began, “is _gelato_ I had flown in specifically from Rome. You lived right next door to Little Italy your whole damn life. Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what that is to piss me off.”

          Steve licked the spoon clean before waving it reprovingly at Tony.

          ”I’m from _Brooklyn_ , not Manhattan.”

          Tony lunged; Steve twisted and easily deflected him. He joined his compatriots on the sofa.

          ” _Pepper!_ ” Tony shouted at the ceiling.

          ”We’re watching a movie,” Natasha huffed from behind him.

          “Yes, have a little courtesy,” Pepper agreed, appearing in a hallway on the opposite side of the kitchenette.

          “Pepper,” he repeated through grit teeth, “what are they doing in the house?” She tut-tutted him and made to approach, but was interrupted by heavy footfalls growing louder behind her.

          “ _Stark!_ ” Thor cried as he bounded in and caught Tony in a hug that lifted him off the ground, “I had thought to have rich accommodations in Asgard, but _this_ is truly magnificent. I was already plenty blessed with your flying craft alone. That you would give me a second home here of such quality is a gift I can never hope to reciprocate.”

          “You can start by putting me down,” Tony choked out after the worst of Thor’s embrace had relinquished. Thor did so, though a massive grin remained plastered on his face. Tony turned to readdress Pepper, who returned an arched _just-try-and-tell-me-off_ eyebrow in preemptive response. His reproaches died before he could give voice to them, understanding from just that one look from Pepper he wasn’t going to win this particular battle.

          “So…you moved them in,” he tried instead, doing his best to be conversational and diplomatic. Pepper hummed her agreement.

          “This is why you didn’t go to California yourself. There was no board meeting here.” Pepper nodded, her shit-eating grin spreading wider as Tony deduced retroactively.

          “I don’t understand why you’re so angry. You clearly planned to have us all move in here,” Bruce spoke from the sofa. Pepper leaned over to look past Tony and at Bruce.

          “He’s not angry. At least, not about this. He just doesn’t like that I beat him to the punch. Everything’s been ready to go for weeks.”

          “Weeks? Then why wait?” Steve asked. Pepper stalled at his question. She glanced nervously at Tony, who still had his back to everyone else in the living room. Bruce’s eyes lit from behind with understanding.

          “You didn’t think we would want to.”

          Tony allowed his slackened shoulders do the talking for him.

          “Is this what the Christmas-in-July treatment has been for?” Natasha questioned further.

          “No,” Tony quickly replied. When he finally turned back around toward his teammates, he found himself face-to-face with Barton. He squeaked in surprise and fell back a step or so.

          “We all know you’re a grade-A prick a lot of the time, but trying to buy us off was never going to work.” Steve, Thor, and Bruce made a few, dissonant noises of complaint, but Clint ignored them and continued, “But luckily for you, I don’t know anybody else who appreciates the numerous, yet subtle ways Faramir is way cooler than Boromir.”

          Tony relaxed. “I’ve always found it patently obvious he was the superior son.” Clint nodded at him in approval before returning to the sofa. Steve’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two men in confusion. He appeared to decide whatever he had just witnessed was positive, however, as he stepped forward.

          “You’ve more than proved to us how committed you are to a team effort, Tony.”

          “Working together and living together are two _very_ different things,” Natasha quipped.

          “That’s true,” Steve continued, annoyance lacing his voice at Natasha’s interruption, “but that commitment is borne out of respect for us. I didn’t recognize that before…I do, now. And though I’m sure you’re going to enjoy, um, _pushing the boundaries_ of camaraderie, we all appreciate what you’re offering us, and are willing to take you up on it.”

          “That has to be the most roundabout way of saying ‘it’s okay, we’re friends’ I’ve ever heard,” Bruce chuckled.

          “Let’s not get carried away with labels, hmm?” Natasha countered, though a tiny smirk softened her usually-stern features.

          “Willing, we are, indeed! As long as you will have us, friend.” Thor agreed, oblivious to Natasha’s sarcasm. Tony looked over to Pepper – she was beaming. She mouthed an ‘ _I told you so’_ at him as she finally closed the gap between them and wrapped an arm around his waist. He smiled in spite of himself.

          Yeah, people weren’t that bad, after all.

          “You all just better remember my birthday’s in four months, and I expect to have my mind _blown_. I mean, I don’t expect a three-or-four-million’s-worth of mind blown, but your quaint little ideas should mix up into something presentable.”

          He made a tactical retreat before Pepper’s hands, popcorn, or gelato could connect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we've reached the end. Wholehearted thanks to the OP for the wonderful prompt. I had _so_ much fun writing this. 
> 
> And, of course, thanks to all of you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it even half as much as I did coming up with it. <3


End file.
